


Home Is A Question Mark

by Das_verlorene_Kind



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Fairy Tale Elements, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Snow Queen Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 01:54:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21979378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Das_verlorene_Kind/pseuds/Das_verlorene_Kind
Summary: It has been too long since any human set foot into the Snow King’s castle, and for good reason. It is rumored their family are the children of Winter himself, that their skin as white and cold as snow, that they have powerful magic abilities where ice bends to their will and everything their sickly-blue fingertips touch dies a frost-riddled death, and that here is only a lump of ice where their hearts are supposed to be.For decades, their territory stood unclaimed, with no one ever challenging the rule of the Snow King’s dynasty over the land. At nighttime, so they say, the soft snow makes for the deadliest mattress, and the Snow King himself has drained their energy through his cruel magic. Sleep seeps into their bodies, impossible to fight off. The ones who try to make the journey always find themselves waking up far away from the castle, unsure of how they got there, safe, but unsuccessful in dethroning the Snow King. There are whispers of a curse, of magic, and most of all, of the terrifying, mighty Snow King.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Comments: 12
Kudos: 66
Collections: Have Yourself Some Merry Little Peterick 2019





	Home Is A Question Mark

**Author's Note:**

> Helly everyone! Happy holidays!
> 
> This is my entry for the Merry Little Peterick challenge. I have been meaning to write a fic about a Snow King!Patrick ever since I drew some art of him earlier this year, and well, I kept my word!
> 
> Unbeta'd this time; English isn't my first language so please forgive any mistakes.  
> Thanks to all the support from the lovely Peterick authors in the Discord! <3

Once upon a time, in a country far away from the reach of the sun’s warmth, amidst a bright-white field of snow, a young man was driving his sled, unaware of the beauty of the snowflakes dancing around him, and unaware of all the adventures ahead of him.

Young Pete, third of his name, not the first choice of his despotic father, is on a mission.

The snowy landscape stretches out before Pete’s eyes, promising endless white frost and ice-cold wind. The castle of the Snow King is but a remote silhouette against the glow of the setting sun; if they hurry, they can make it there before night time brings its danger upon them.

Six of King Peter’s finest sled dogs, chosen to drag his unloved son to certain doom – ah, Pete tries not to think about what may await him. It has been too long since any human set foot into the Snow King’s castle, and for good reason. It is rumored their family are the children of Winter himself, that their skin as white and cold as snow, that they have powerful magic abilities where ice bends to their will and everything their sickly-blue fingertips touch dies a frost-riddled death, and that here is only a lump of ice where their hearts are supposed to be.

For decades, their territory stood unclaimed, with no one ever challenging the rule of the Snow King’s dynasty over the land. At nighttime, so they say, the soft snow makes for the deadliest mattress, and the Snow King himself has drained their energy through his cruel magic. Sleep seeps into their bodies, impossible to fight off. The ones who try to make the journey always find themselves waking up far away from the castle, unsure of how they got there, safe, but unsuccessful in dethroning the Snow King. There are whispers of a curse, of magic, and most of all, of the terrifying, mighty Snow King.

Whether the stories are true or not, the Snow King’s ice still proudly rules the land.

Pete’s father, while delighted about the enemy’s failure, is not deterred to try his own hand at bargaining with the Snow King. King Peter’s appetite for power and wealth are unmatched, the legends of his skills as a warrior are the stuff of gruesome tales to frighten the enemy’s children, and whatever he wants, he takes – be it gold, or land.

As much as Pete’s father wishes to claim the Snow King’s territory, even his army stands unprepared to fight a powerful magic creature surrounded by the deathly ice tundra that holds nothing but snow and blizzards.

If war is impossible, Pete’s father figured that sending his own son as a sign of good will for negotiations might be a good choice. Oh, Pete knows who he is – a replaceable pawn in a game of power, a hostage willingly on his way to captivity, but what else is there to do if the alternative will be execution by an outraged father? Defeat is not in their blood, is what the King says. Disappointing sons are nothing more than ballast, is what the court rumors, eager to see Pete gone so they can claim their own spot in a mighty kingdom.

The snow is blinding white in the light of the day, the cold seeping through Pete’s clothes, cutting through his skin. But the only way to go is forward; he is too far from a campsite to go back, and the castle too close to give up. Whatever awaits him, it has to be better that having to freeze outside in the wastelands, with only his beloved dogs to mourn his lonely death.

Pete wonders if he will be able to feel the curse, if it’s like needles pricking his skin, or a harsh hand closing his eyes. So far, all he feels is the cold and the anxiousness. Sleep is troublesome for Pete even when he’s home, with insomnia having been his companion ever since he can remember. Now, as the adrenaline rushes through his blood, the castle so close and the fear running so high, sleep is the furthest thing from Pete’s mind.

No icicle stabs him, no blizzard blows him away. No sleep claims him, whether temporarily or eternal. The castle is in front of Pete now, his loyal dogs have dutifully carried him all the way right to the doorstep of the Snow King, and Pete cannot, does not want to turn around. He undoes the dogs’ harnesses – he doesn’t dare to make them wait for him outside, perhaps in vain – shoulders his bags, and straightens his back.

Whether he has escaped a curse, or if perhaps the Snow King is playing a cruel game with him, Pete does not know. But here he is, in front of the imposing ice gates, scared, but intrigued.

From up close, the flawless beauty of the castle, built entirely of ice, is even more astonishing. Pete approaches carefully, each step awaiting catastrophe. Few have ventured this far, and perhaps, not all of them have even returned to tell the tales.

There are no guards to be seen, although Pete supposes that the Snow King is powerful enough to defend himself. With only the walls of the castle greeting him, Pete decides that he needs to speak up first – after all, he is the one who sought out the Snow King.

“I am Prince Peter, third of my name,” Pete says, the wind making it almost impossible to hear the words falling from his trembling lips, “and I seek an audience with His Majesty, the Snow King!”

No one comes to greet him, and no one comes to chase him away either. Pete waits, his mind painting the most horrible scenarios: The Snow King sending a mighty blizzard to blow him away, the snow opening up to bury him forever, an icicle to pierce his heart…

No such thing happens. The imposing portal swings open, as if the castle knows of Pete’s presence, even though the hallway is empty. The dogs are less threatened by the magic fortress, their fluffy tails wagging as they wait for Pete to guide them inside, and hopefully, into safety. Pete takes a deep breath, and then he walks in.

The walls of the castle seems to glow, as if the ice itself hosts a magic source of light. From the right angles, it shimmers and sparkles in every color of the rainbow, an arctic spectacle that Pete has no eye for as he anxiously awaits whoever (or whatever) inhabits the castle.

It is eerily quiet, no one to be seen, no voices, no laughter to be heard. The atmosphere of the castle, though noble and imposing, is as frosty as the ice it is made of. Despite the grand entry hall, Pete feels like he might be suffocating, as if the walls could close in on him any second now. In the middle of the hall, under a thick layer of ice, is a lake, long frozen over. It is a curious sight, if perhaps a little eerie to Pete, who wonders if maybe, those who displease the Snow King will find themselves crash through the ice, and be entombed in the ice lake for all eternity.

Suddenly, steps echo through the seemingly endless halls, announcing the presence of someone (or something) else. They’re approaching slowly, almost with leisure, in stark contrast to Pete’s rapidly beating heart and his urge to turn around and flee. Despite his fear, Pete stands still, and waits for the Snow King.

When the Snow King shows, all Pete can make out at first is a burst of shimmering snow, dazzling as it slowly sinks down, revealing the creature who commands it. It is a man, his skin and hair almost devoid of color, his piercing eyes a sharp blue, his lips the frozen petals of summer’s most precious roses; he is as dangerously and deceivingly beautiful as his castle of ice. Only the finest pelts and clothes are draped around his body in a strange, but stunning fashion, shimmering as if they are woven of delicate strands of ice and snow.

Pete does not dare to speak as the Snow King approaches him, blue eyes fixed on Pete, two sharp ice daggers that make him shiver when they meet his. The Snow King moves gracefully, a cascade of snowflakes dancing around him with each carefully placed step. What he lacks in height, he makes up for with a presence that makes Pete tremble, and not from the coldness. Behind them, Pete can hear the dogs perk up, feels their tension, hopes they stay away from the threat.

Silence settles in the halls once more, heavy and daunting. The creature in front of Pete is surprisingly human-looking at first, but eerily different upon a second glance: His skin almost translucent, his eyes too blue, no small clouds of breath coming from his parted lips. The crown perched on top of his head is made from ice, yet with the way it sparkles and its intricate design, it looks like the most precious gems and the finest handiwork. It is the only piece of jewelry the Snow King wears, but what need would he have for them if he is surrounded by the brilliant, otherworldly beauty of the ice?

“You seek audience?” The Snow King says, and his voice is the clinking of glass, the softness of freshly-fallen snow, the splendor of sharp icicles ready to pierce one’s heart.

“Indeed, Your Majesty, I seek audience,” Pete answers, trying to act more confident that he really is. His own voice sounds small and lost among the endless ice dome around them. He isn’t even sure if someone as otherworldly as the Snow King knows or cares about formalities and the correct ways to address a noble, but Pete thinks it’s best to not try his patience. “I am Prince Peter the Third, son of King Peter the Second ruling the Kingdom of the South, sent to negotiate an alliance.”

“Oh, you want what is mine?” The Snow King laughs, sharp and cold. “What will you do, little human? How will your soldiers stop the ice? Is your army going to battle the cold winds? Are you going to hold my snow flakes prisoners?”

Pete can find nothing amusing in the King’s words. As dreadful as they are, he is right – how is anyone supposed to battle nature itself?

“We do not seek battle,” Pete answers him nervously. “I seek to offer a trade – my father offers unimaginable riches for your alliance.”

“I have everything I wish for,” the King says with a sneer as he circles Pete, like a wolf would circle its prey. “And what I want, I take for myself.”

“My father offers gold, power, and whatever else you may wish for,” Pete continues, as he was instructed to do, although he feels like a fool. “Is there nothing that could sway your heart?”

At his words, the Snow King stops, clutches his chest while he sends Pete a spine-tingling glare. Pete briefly wonders if the legends are true, if there is indeed nothing but a lump of ice behind the Snow King’s ribs, making his words a mockery.

“I have no use for any of these things. I have everything I need,” the Snow King repeats with even more scorn.

Pete opens his mouth, trying to make another weak argument, but the Snow King holds up a pale hand, gesturing him to be silent. He takes a step closer to Pete, and Pete can feel the cold draught against his skin.

“You have the gleam of the sun in your eyes,” the Snow King states with something Pete can’t quite place. Something between anger and anxiousness, if a creature like him can even feel that. It makes sense, that the Snow King would not be drawn to anything warm and so unlike winter, that he would not be fond of the sun or summer. “You cannot tempt me, human – you cannot deceive me. I will not be fooled again. Go, leave, and never come back!”

Pete shake his head, though it is not the powerful Snow King alone he is afraid of. “I will not leave. I cannot leave.”

Startled, the Snow King takes a step back, Pete’s blatant disobedience certainly not what he suspected. “Are you a fool? Do you not fear me? Have you not heard what they say about me? The touch of my fingers can freeze you to death. I could take you as a trophy, build you a casket of ice. You will be forever beautiful, frozen in place to match the rest of my castle.”

As gruesome as these words are, they do not come entirely unexpected. With a heart of ice, the Snow King is rumored to be as cold and cruel as the season that grants him his powers. When his father sent Pete on this mission to a foreign kingdom as essentially a hostage, Pete was sure it wouldn’t end well – it was never intended to end well, not for him at least.

Pete decides to be honest. “I cannot leave even if I wanted to. I am exhausted, and so are my sled dogs, in dire need of rest and food. If we were to leave, it would mean certain death. I may as well stay. If you wish to kill me, do it now and get it over with.”

His words cause the Snow King to send him an irritated glance, before he steps away from Pete, walks towards the little corner hiding the dogs. He holds out a hand, ghostly-pale, the tips of his fingers as blue as his veins. To Pete’s surprise, his dogs, curious and carefree as ever, prove why their breed makes for bad guard dogs as they come closer towards the outstretched hand.

“Please, do not harm them,” Pete pleads, panic making his chest ache. His sled dogs only followed their master, they do not deserve to pay for his mistakes. “You can have whatever you want, you can kill me if you please, mount me on the wall over your throne as a warning to enemies, anything, but please, the dogs did nothing wrong.”

“Never would I harm an animal,” the Snow King says, and he sounds angry, almost offended. The dogs approach him, tails curled up and ears perked up in alertness, sniffing the stranger’s hand. For a moment, there seems to be a smile on the Snow King’s lips, like the pale winter sun letting the snow glitter in the colors of the rainbow; it is as fleeting as a snowflake melting in one’s palm.

Against the tales Pete has heard, the touch of the Snow King is not deadly. His fingers brush over the soft fur of the dogs, careful, curious, and none of them turns into an ice block, or dies a frost-bitten death. Quite the opposite, the dogs are livelier than ever, jumping at the Snow King’s feet, eager for his attention. Strangely enough, seeing his dogs trusting the Snow King makes Pete more comfortable as well. And so far, the Snow King has not made good of any of his threats, he hasn’t laid a hand on Pete, hasn’t put an icicle through his chest, hasn’t done any of the gruesome things Pete imagined might happen.

The longer Pete keeps looking at him, Pete begins to doubt any of it will ever happen. The Snow King is no doubt equipped with commendable magic skills far above what any human could ever dare to dream of, but as he bows down to gently pet one of the fluffy white sled dogs, the shadow of a smile still on his lips, he looks just as fragile and fleeting as an ice flower. Suddenly, Pete realizes how alone they are. There is no court, no noblemen, no soldiers, all that surrounds them is the eternal ice castle and the silent snow. Does a creature like the Snow King not crave company? Is he happy to just roam the land, carried by the arctic winds, each picture-perfect snowflake whispering a story to him?

“You said you were tired?” The Snow King asks with an expression that Pete can’t quite place. No longer does his voice hold a tempest, no longer do his eyes hold cold indifference despite his claims. “Say, how come you did not fall asleep on your journey to my castle? Did the snow around it not promise to be the softest mattress, did the hibernating animals hiding not persuade you to join them in their slumber?”

Pete shakes his head. “Sleep would not have been a good choice for a human like me. If I were to rest my head on a snowy pillow, I fear might never rise again.”

The Snow King glances at him with thoughtful blue eyes, but doesn’t press any further.

“Never have I seen dogs like these,” the Snow King says instead as he looks over to Pete now, his hand still absentmindedly tracing over the white fur of the pack leader. “They pull your sled, you said? A strange custom!”

Pete involuntarily smiles to himself as he answers: “Yes, they pull our sleds. They are Samoyeds, precious dogs who I raised myself. Brave little creatures, I love them dearest.”

“They must’ve worked hard, to drag you and all those useless human artifacts up to my castle. Surely, they must rest, and be fed. You better take care of them, Peter.”

Being addressed by name only is weird to Pete’s ears, too used to the courtesy and common etiquette of his own court. Pete winces a little when he is addressed by his father’s name. Since there is no one around to complain about a lack of formalities, Pete clears his throat, and says: “Your Majesty, I must request for you to call me Pete, please. Peter is my father, and I am  _ not _ my father.”

Once more, a shadow of a smile blossoms on the Snow King’s lips, an ice flower as precious and ephemeral as the previous one.

“And I am not Your Majesty,” the Snow King says, “I am Patrick.”

The ice palace seems endless as Pete wanders through the grand halls, the long corridors, all as silent and otherworldly as their ruler himself, walking ahead of Pete.

_ Patrick _ , he said his name was, uninterested in the formal title – perhaps, magical beings like him do not recognize the titles bestowed upon them by mere humans. Still, addressing the ruler of such an impressive kingdom, let alone such a powerful creature, by name seems almost blasphemous to Pete, against everything he has ever been taught since he’s been a small child unwilling to sit still, yet forced to learn to socialize in court.

Everything looks too similar to Pete’s eyes, ice and ice and more ice, growing into various shapes, forming the very walls of the castle. The mantle of snow in front of them is undisturbed, and Pete has the vague notion that the mess he and his six dogs leave as they make their way through the snow will soon be covered by fresh snow, restoring the immaculate white.

The Snow King leads the way without looking back, and without having to pause to orientate himself, and Pete has no choice but to follow. Pete is certain he won’t find his way back alone, that even his dogs might not be of help – he is at the mercy of the Snow King to lead them back out, lest Pete does end up as the frozen corpse amidst the empty castle.

The chamber seems to materialize out of nowhere. Pete would not be surprised if the magic of the mighty Snow King has just created it on a whim, the ice bending to his will at once.

The Snow King gestures towards the chamber, and says: “Be my guest, Pete.”

Despite the polite invitation, there’s a sharpness in his voice that feels more like a threat. Pete is not a guest, he came uninvited and stayed against Patrick’s wishes, messing with the impeccable beauty of his castle by trampling over the snow-covered paths and having his dogs roam the halls. Pete doesn’t know what position he holds, he is neither guest nor prisoner, but he isn’t interested in pushing the boundaries any further.

Everything is ice. Delicately shaped into elegant furniture, neither melting (and surprisingly dry under Pete’s touch) nor sticking to his skin, but it is ice nonetheless. It is a welcome shelter from the blizzards, and thankfully, whatever magic possesses the castles of this wall, it illuminates the chamber with a soft glow.

“Thank you,” Pete stutters, his hands reaching for the reassuring presence of his sled dogs. Their soft fur and warm bodies against his are a comfort in this ice castle.

“I told you my name,” the Snow King says with a frown, “I do not bestow that honor to everyone.”

“Thank you,  _ Patrick _ ,” Pete hurries to correct his mistake, and thankfully, the Snow King seems less displeased now. He looks at Pete thoughtfully, his strange eyes wandering over Pete’s clothes and the gear his dogs so dutifully carried.

“Ah. You are human,” the Snow King says more to himself than to Pete, “a human with the sun in his eyes, and summer in his veins. You will not like the cold.”

“I can handle it,” Pete answers somewhat anxiously. “I made the voyage under much worse conditions, and I do not wish to overextend your hospitality.”

“You are my guest. I do not wish to see you harmed. And I do not wish to see your animal friends harmed, either.” The Snow King spares a glance towards the dogs. “I cannot bring you warmth, but I can take away the coldness, to help with the freezing temperatures. My eternal ice crystals will not mind, and you will be safe. Make a fire if you must, but be warned – should you try to turn the flames against me, I will make you regret it.”

The words send a shiver down Pete’s spine. While he begins to doubt that the scary legends and grand claims of the Snow King to have him mounted over his throne or torture him otherwise for his amusements are serious, this is definitely a threat that holds meaning, and perhaps a grudge that Pete doesn’t know the story of. He does not dare to ask, and he does not dare to speak, either.

With that, the Snow King turns around, and leaves.

The night is not as awful as Pete thought it might be. Whatever magic the Snow King worked, the coldness crawled back to its master, leaving the chamber not exactly warm, but with a more bearable temperature, far friendlier than outside. Pete has his many layers of clothes and furs and he succeeds in making a fire to warm himself up. His rations will last for a few more days, and he tries not to worry about it as he feeds his dogs their well-deserved share. Tired and exhausted, the dogs gather around Pete, huddling up to keep him as well as each other warm and safe. Sleep does not find Pete that night, which doesn’t surprise him. As exhausted as he might be, the circumstances only worsen his usual insomnia. He slips in and out of half-awake daydreams, bringing him no rest.

It’s only when the sun rises that Pete realizes that wherever inside the castle his shelter is located, it still allows for natural light to flood the chamber. It paints a beautiful cascade of colors on the sparkling walls of ice, a stunning spectacle that Pete watches for a while, still curled up under his blankets with his dogs.

Eventually, Pete gets up. He cleans himself up, gets dressed, although he doesn’t know what for. 

  
  


Just as Pete wonders how he is supposed to find his way in the endless castle, the Snow King enters the chamber. He is dressed in different clothes than yesterday, even more splendid and opulent, the ice crown perched on top of his white-blond hair. Pete wonders if a creature like him knows vanity, but decides not to ask.

“You are fed and your dogs have rested, although  _ you _ have not slept,” the Snow King says without so much as a greeting. “What now, young Pete?”

Pete tries not to wonder why and how the Snow King knows he hasn’t slept. This is his castle, after all, Pete doubts that anything can happen inside these walls without the Snow King knowing of it.

“I have no place to go,” Pete mumbles quietly, his eyes fixed on the floor. “I cannot return to my castle, and I don’t know where else to go.”

Something like sadness tugs at the Snow King’s lips, making Pete wonder if he can feel sadness in the first place. “You will be better off trying to find your luck elsewhere. All I have to offer is a castle of ice, and a landscape of snow.”

“What about your power? Your land? Is there nothing you would want?” Pete asks, desperate now. “Are you sure there is nothing I can offer to sway your heart?”

“My heart?” The Snow King exclaims, clutching his chest once more; Pete wonders if he can feel its beats inside his chest, if the Snow King’s heart, whether ice or not, beats at all. “I told you, I will not be swayed by whatever empty promises you make. The games you humans play, I may not understand them, but I know I do not care to get involved. Find someone else to fool with your golden coins and golden eyes, I will not be tricked by any of it.”

“I am not trying to play any tricks on you!” Pete tries to defend himself.

The Snow King shakes his head, a wary expression on his face. “Why are you really here?”

“Your Majesty, I swear, I have no ill intentions.” Pete says with all the sincerity he can muster. “I came to your castle to seek out an adventure, see the glory of the famous stories told to me since childhood. I was curious, and perhaps, I wished – well, I wished to see more of the world than just the walls of my father’s castle.”

The Snow King sends Pete a look he can’t quite place. He shakes his head gain, as if to rid himself of a pesky thought, then says: “I told you my name. It is Patrick. I do not bestow that honor upon everyone.”

Pete decides to simply nod, and not to argue. He can’t really guess what the Snow King thinks of him, and he can’t quite stop referring to him as the Snow King. That is the name and title that Pete has known him by ever since he heard the first stories about the Kingdom of the Ice, that is what everyone calls this mighty creature, something that evokes power and fear. To imagine this powerful magical being has but a simple name does not match anything Pete has believed to be true.

Pete pets his dogs, a well-known and comforting gesture both for him as well as the animals. They’re rested and fed and eager to start the day, curious about the new environment and the strange creature in the room. They do not fear the Snow King– Patrick, Pete reminds himself, he doesn’t want to slip up again –,do not seem to mind his presence.

The two more braver ones are happy to get closer, sniff the Snow Ki– sniff  _ Patrick’s _ outstretched hand. Once more, the tiniest twinkle of a smile appears on his lips as he pets the dogs, before he turns to Pete again.

“You mean no harm, do you?” Patrick looks at him thoughtfully.

“I never meant any harm, nor did I mean to disturb your peace in any way,” Pete answers honestly. He’s not sure if that convinces Patrick, but at least, he doesn’t insist that Pete leaves, doesn’t throw him out into the unforgiving weather, and doesn’t look at him with the strangely human expression of hurt in his almost-human eyes.

“Your dogs look like they want to play,” Patrick says instead. “Let us take a walk through the castle.”

  
  


In the glory of daylight, the castle looks beautiful in a different way than dawn and nighttime. It’s brighter, though not hurtful to the human eye, the white of the snow broken up by the colorful play of the light when it breaks through the ice, everything is less eerie and more welcoming. Pete hurries after Patrick, who walks through the endless halls without having to hesitate, while Pete still has trouble to orientate himself. His dogs, excited to have some space to roam free and explore, plow through the snow, chasing each other in a playful manner, once in a while stopping to have Pete pat them or slip them a treat. They end up in the grand hall with the frozen lake, and while the dogs run off, Patrick stops, and so does Pete.

Pete still doesn’t know what to make of the Snow King; he doesn’t seem to be the cruel tyrant that many tales and stories make him out to be. Neither has he harmed Pete in any way, nor has he demanded Pete to leave the safety of his castle. He has even told Pete his name, which seems to be a privilege that not many enjoy. The dogs trust him, and Patrick seems delighted by the animals, which Pete would take as a good sign.

On the other hand, Patrick hasn’t been pleased with Pete’s proposal of negotiations and alliances, seems to have little interest in the power play between the human kingdoms. He doesn’t care for war, doesn’t care for power, doesn’t care for wealth. And Patrick is wary of Pete, that much Pete can sense, although he doesn’t know why a creature like the Snow King would be wary of a measly human.

“Are we all alone?” Pete asks, trying not to sound disrespectful.

Patrick shakes his head. “We are not.”

Pete doesn’t need to ask what that ominous statement might mean.

As if they had heard the Snow King’s words, a small herd of reindeer enter the hall in silent elegance. The silvery brown of their fur stands out against the impeccable white of the snow, and their imposing antlers beckon respect. Unlike the few reindeer Pete has caught a glimpse of during his journey, these aren’t shy, quite the contrary. They do not fear Pete’s presence, are not scared of the dogs nearby, and look willing to defend themselves as well as their ruler. The reindeer, far from being the merry little creatures Pete has thought them to be, bow their heads to the Snow King – or perhaps, they lower their heads to be ready to stab their antlers right through Pete’s fearful heart.

“Impossible!” Pete gasps, instinctively taking a step closer to Patrick as the reindeer approach. “I have not seen them before, not even heard them!”

Patrick reaches out his hands, and the reindeer, standing taller than the Snow King, follow his invitation. One rests its head on his shoulder, another demands to have its ears scratched, all of them eager to give a friendly nose bop to whatever part of Patrick they can reach. As big and imposing as they might be, they’re graceful and gentle in the presence of Patrick, and Pete slowly relaxes.

“Of course you have not seen them,” Patrick says as he pets the reindeer. “A stranger comes to my castle against all odds – I was not sure whether you meant harm or not. I do not mind the people and animals out there who hunt for survival and treat nature with respect, but I have met humans who hunt for the sake of sports and trophy, or simply to cause harm.”

“I do not hunt for sports, and I do not care for trophies,” Pete hurries to assure. “I would never mindlessly or cruelly harm any living being. When I hunt, it is only to feed my dogs.”

“I have met humans with ill intentions,” Patrick says after a while, his voice as cold as the snow that surrounds them. “Who lie for the sake of glory and fame, or to simply hurt others.”

“I am not a liar!” Pete exclaims with hurt pride. “I have not lied to you, and I never would, neither for fame, nor to harm you. I am not that kind of person!”

Patrick seems to consider Pete’s words as he thoughtfully looks at him with his stunning blue eyes. He stays silent, and while he is neither hostile nor openly doubts Pete’s claims, Pete can sense that Patrick is still cautious. It makes Pete wonder what kind of humans Patrick met, what kind of experiences he made – oh, how strange to think that after all the stories Pete has heard all his life, the Snow King’s own ones might greatly differ.

Patrick straightens his back, and the reindeer turn their heads towards him; most of them then scatter around the endless halls of the palace again, while some approach Patrick when he holds out his hand, beckons them to come closer. Pete orders his dogs back as well, waits for the moment that the mighty Snow King turns around and tells him to finally leave the grand ice castle.

“These proud creatures, they pull my sled,” Patrick says instead, a small smile on his lips as he gestures towards the remaining reindeer. It’s not a custom that’s unknown to Pete, but these reindeer are clearly unlike the ones domesticated by humans.

“They are majestic,” Pete answers with great respect. The reindeer, taller than Pete and equipped with large antlers, are still imposing, and far less trusting of him than Pete’s dogs are of Patrick. What must it look like, to see them gracefully make their way through the snow, their trusted King in the sled behind them?

Patrick turns to him, a seldom expression on his ghostly-pale face. “I must leave now. I shall be back tonight – whether we see each other again or not is your choice. You are free to stay, but you are also free to leave. For now, I bid you good-bye – make of it what you will.”

With that, Patrick turns to his reindeer again, which follow him as he walks out. With a wink of his hand, Patrick restores the mantle of snow to its former pristine glory, no footsteps or paw prints to be seen anymore. Once Patrick and his reindeer have left, Pete feels strangely alone.

The ice castle lays quiet all day. Pete has found his way back to his chamber, thanks to his dogs showing the way. He’s considered to follow Patrick’s words, to pack up and leave. Crawl back to his father with a lie to excuse his failure, perhaps? Oh, it would be so easy to use the Snow King’s bad reputation against him, blame the Snow King for everything, and hope that King Peter will show mercy on his son. But that feels like giving up, and worse, like betrayal to the Snow King, who hasn’t wronged him in any way.

And for the first time in his life, Pete feels free in a way he’s never been before. There’s no court surrounding him, no noblemen and -women gossiping, no jealous siblings, no despotic parents, no duties that Pete never asked for. The Snow King does not care for wealth or war, shows no desire to hurt anyone in any way, and does not expect Pete to fit into a life he never wanted, but has been bestowed just by being born into the wrong family.

Not only does Pete have the leisure to do as he pleases, play with his dogs, read or write poetry, have his way with words (even though they have not really convinced the Snow King so far – which hurts Pete just a little). No, the more time he spends in the ice castle, the more he is intrigued to learn more about it as well as its owner. No, Pete doesn’t feel like going back to his old life anytime soon. The more time he spends in the ice castle, the more he is intrigued to learn more about it as well as its owner. When will he ever have the chance to go on a grand adventure, explore the unknown, see the beauty of a world he’s never been to? When will he ever have the chance to talk to the Snow King himself again?

Just as Pete stares into the flames, wondering if perhaps they might bear an answer, he can hear steps approaching them. The dogs perk up, tails wagging excitedly, and Pete has to admit, he somewhat shares their innocent enthusiasm. When the Snow King enters the chamber, Pete finds himself smiling as the dogs run to greet their new strange friend. He catches the little smile on Patrick’s lips as he pets the dogs’ fluffy fur, lets them lick his hand. Pete wonders if his hands, elegant and pale, are as cold as the snow they command.

“You stayed,” Patrick says softly, and Pete nods.

“I stayed.”

“Are you not scared?” Patrick asks, sounding more surprised than intimidating. “I know what legends your humans are telling about me. Do you not fear my wrath, my magic, the curse, coldness and the snow?”

Pete sends him a little smile, and shrugs. “With all due respect, I do not believe that you are capable of being as cruel as our stories make you out to be. As strange as you may be to me, I do not see a reason to fear you. Or should I?”

“No.” Patrick firmly shakes his head. “If you do not seek to harm me like the humans before you, then there is no reason for you to fear me.”

“Are you as cruel as our stories make you out to be?”

“I am not!” Patrick answers, clearly offended by Pete’s words. He clutches his chest, stares into the distance with narrowed eyes. “I am not,” he repeats slowly, with a hint of sadness in his voice, and it feels more like he’s talking to himself than to Pete.

It feels like Pete has hit a vulnerable point, something the Snow King likes to hide behind ice and snow and a cautious look from his pretty blue eyes. He decides it’s best not to pry. “Would you like to sit down with us?” Pete asks instead, making a vague gesture towards his dogs. “My dogs are fed, but I was just about to cook.”

Pete's words successfully tear Patrick out of whatever heavy thoughts may have had. Patrick accepts the informal invitation with a gracious nod; he sits down a little bit further from the flames, and a moment later, one of the dogs has claimed his lap as a resting place. As before, Patrick enjoys the company of the dogs, he pets them with great care and a shadow of a smile on his lips as he watches how Pete prepares his meal.

Pete notices Patrick’s curious gaze on him, and asks: “Are you hungry as well?”

“I do not feel hunger the same way you do. I do not need the food you need. Ice and snow require water more than anything else.”

_ Ice and snow _ . Pete looks at the flames burning in front of him, suddenly anxious. “You do not…  _ Melt _ , do you?”

For the first time, Pete hears the Snow King laugh. It’s a strange yet beautiful sound, like the clinking of ice. “No, I do not melt,” Patrick answers as he tries, and fails, to bite back an amused smile. “I am flesh and blood, just like you.”

It is weird to think that someone so strange, with such powers, might not be so different from Pete after all. He has always pictured the Snow King as this grand, otherworldly creature, a magical being with no care or concern for humanity, a beast to be feared and fought against. But now, the Snow King has a face (and a pretty one at that), he has a  _ name _ , he’s no longer part of a scary other. He’s just this person with magical powers who’s also adorably fond of Pete’s dogs. Which Pete can very much relate to.

“Are you cold?” Patrick asks with visible concern. “I have tried my best to keep the cold at bay, but my powers have their limits, and my perspective on what is cold may be skewed. After all, I am made for this life, ice and snow do not harm me. But I know they harm you.”

“I am doing fine. I have my own measure to fight the cold.” Pete gestures towards his clothes, and the fur on the makeshift bed.

It doesn’t appear to ease Patrick’s worries. He undoes the clasp on his coat, lets it slide off his shoulders.

Pete raises his hands, tries to protest such a valuable gift. “You do not need to –  _ oh _ .”

The moment Patrick drapes the coat around Pete’s own shoulders, all concerns vanish. It’s surprisingly light, yet so warm as Pete tugs it around his body. He didn’t lie, he wasn’t freezing before, but his own clothes did not offer the same kind of warmth.

“What about you?” Pete mumbles as he runs his fingers over the incredibly soft white fur, marvels at this no doubt magical item. “I cannot accept this gift if it means you will freeze.”

“I will not freeze,” Patrick assures him with a small smile. “I was made for the life among the coldness. I do not know what freezing is.”

While Pete doesn’t doubt his words, he still appreciates the gesture of Patrick offering his own clothes to keep him warm. “Sit with me, let us share the warmth. Unless you are afraid of melting.”

“I do not melt,” Patrick insists with furrowed brows, scowling at Pete when he chuckles, but he still sits down next to him. Pete lets out a short whistle, and his dogs trot over, seeking warmth and company.

With his belly filled, his dogs at his side, a fire and a magic coat to warm him, Pete feels himself growing tired. Before, Pete’s been exhausted, but now the nervous energy and restlessness that kept him awake are gone. Sleep tugs at the edge of his consciousness, makes him rub his eyes and let out a little yawn.

Pete leans his head on Patrick’s shoulder. “You really are not scary,” he whispers, suppressing another yawn.

Patrick chuckles, which sounds just as strange and beautiful as his actual laugh. “Neither are you.”

At some point, Pete falls asleep; in his dreams, he feels a cool hand caressing his face, fingertips tracing over his skin, hears the soft whisper of fluttering snow.

When Pete wakes up though, he is all alone in his makeshift bed, Patrick’s coat draped over him and his dogs. The fire has long gone out, but the rising sun illuminates the ice castle, and the Snow King’s coat keeps him warm. It is a luxury, not only to have gotten a good night’s rest, but to rise whenever he pleases, not when court etiquette demands him to.

Today, the Snow King visits as well, invites Pete for a stroll through the castle. The dogs with their pent-up energy chase each other through the endless hallways, while the Snow King’s reindeer, unbothered by them, graciously await their master.

“You do not have to wait for me in the castle,” Patrick says as he gestures for his reindeer to approach him, “I will make sure no storm will bother you while I’m away.”

Pete can’t help but blurt out: “Where are you even going, and what is it you  _ do _ all day? There is nothing but snow and ice to care for!”

“That is not true at all!” Patrick turns to him, sends Pete an icy glare. “You’re a fool to think so! I have so much more to offer than silly snowflakes and a cold wasteland. Winter is a cycle of  _ life _ , not merely a cause of death.”

Before Pete can offer an apology, Patrick has left, a gust of wind and snow all that is to be seen. When it settles, the traces of the Snow King and his reindeer have vanished, and Pete feels guilty.

The day passes by with luxurious leisure once more. There is no father to fear, no one is commanding Pete to do all the things he doesn’t want to do, he doesn’t have to train with his sword or study battle strategies or flee from the intrigues of court. It is freedom Pete never had before, and he is enjoying every moment of it. He spends time playing with his dogs, and when they have tired out, Pete gets out his notebook carefully hidden under the gold and gems. Pete considers it to be far more valuable than those, anyway.

A prince cannot be a poet, is what he has been told many times at home. Words do not fight on the battlefield, poems do not claim territory, the stories Pete wants to write don’t inspire people to blindly take up their sword and fight for a King that only cares for his own riches.

Here, in the whimsical castle of the Snow King, Pete doesn’t feel the same sense of pressure. Patrick doesn’t care for war or violence, and unlike many of the supposed friends of Pete’s royal family, he’s generous enough to grant Pete his hospitality without any egotistical intention in mind, and Pete vows to himself to thank Patrick for that.

Patrick returns just as dawn paints a rainbow over the walls of the castle, a spectacle that Pete is growing to like a lot – he hasn’t seen such beauty before, and he’s not sure if he ever will. Patrick’s brows are furrowed, but the frown on his face looks more like a pout as he enters Pete’s chamber, hands behind his back, one of his reindeer behind him, majestic and imposing as always.

Pete gets up from his bed, the coat Patrick gave him still wrapped around his body. The ink on his notebook pages has barely dried, but while Pete loves his written words, there are some to be said that are more important right now.

“Patrick! Welcome back,” Pete greets him, and at the mention of his name, dogs perk up, notice there’s a new person to be greeted, and rush over to the Snow King. “I have had all day to think, and I must apologize for my careless words this morning,” Pete continues as Patrick pets the dogs while he listens to Pete with a thoughtful look on his face, “they were prejudiced, and I had not thought them through. Forgive me for hurting you. And I wish to thank you – for your generosity, your hospitality, and everything.”

Patrick’s expression softens as he gently motions the dog aside, so he can walk over to Pete. Patrick holds out his hand, revealing what he’s been hiding behind his back: A crown of flowers, delicately woven together and gently placed upon Pete’s head now.

“Snowdrops, iceland poppies, fir sprigs... The blooms of winter,” Patrick explains, his frown dissolving into his marvelous little smile, as precious and pretty as the flowers he has handed to Pete. “There is so much more than just the white of the snow, or the grey of the clouds. It may not be a crown that you humans consider befitting for a prince, but it bears significance to me.”

“They are marvelous,” Pete says as his fingers trace over the soft petals of the flowers. He has never considered that there might be something other than a mantle of snow covering the landscape.

And Patrick has brought more – his reindeer carries a small sled, made of glittering ice, filled with colorful objects. “Winter offers more than beauty,” Patrick says as he gestures towards the sled, “I thought you might grow hungry at some point...”

What Pete finds inside the sled are strange fruits and vegetables, most of which he’s never seen or known before. As he goes through the harvest, Patrick explains what he has brought with him. Lush orange clementines, bright-yellow lemons, green and white fennel and leafy greens, squashes and potatoes in colors, size and shape that Pete has never seen before.

“All this despite the snow and coldness!” Pete traces over the smooth, blood-red skin of what Patrick calls a pomegranate. Patrick smiles at him, and shows him how to eat the strange fruit Pete is holding. The ruby-colored seeds taste surprisingly sweet, and Patrick watches with pride as Pete tries various fruits, and plans out what dishes to prepare with the vegetables.

This time, Patrick takes some of the food Pete offers to him. He eats slowly and with care, more for enjoyment than for nourishment. “I do not need to eat to stay alive like you do,” he explains once more, “that does not mean I cannot eat or enjoy food at all.”

“Wait until I have managed to find out how and what to do with all this. I promise you, you will like it!” Pete says, gesturing towards the colorful vegetables. “Please, tell me, is there any other way to repay you?”

Instead of answering, Patrick laughs his strange laugh, and pets Pete’s dogs which now have lost their shyness, and demand attention. “How have you spent the day, Pete?”

“Oh, it is – it is nothing of importance,” Pete stutters, feeling his cheeks turn red. “I try my hand at poetry sometimes. A silly little thing to pass the time...”

“Words have never been my forte. I prefer the beauty of the snow, the beauty of sound, the wind singing, the snowflakes dancing...” Patrick trails off, shakes his head. “You asked how you can repay me – please, I would like to hear what you have written. Would you read me your words?”

Pete’s first instinct is to deny, but not only does he want to repay Patrick, he is also intrigued by the honesty in Patrick’s request. He is sure that the Snow King will not try to make a fool out of him, won’t laugh at his attempts, won’t declare poetry is a waste of time.

So, Pete reads what he has written, tales of life, death and love, stories of ice and snow, and whatever else his imagination likes to play around with. Patrick listens attentively, blue eyes fixed on Pete, lower lip caught between his white teeth. He doesn’t interrupt Pete, but his mimic and facial expressions make it clear he is invested, that he empathizes with the emotions Pete tries to convey.

“How fascinating!” Patrick says with joy once Pete has finished. “Your words are a work of art.”

Pete feels himself blush again. Never before has anyone expressed such kindness to his writing. It has always been something to be hidden, something to be ashamed of, like the books he likes to read or the pretty noblemen he’s had in his bedroom against his parent’s wishes.

“Will you stay another day?” Patrick’s friendly voice tears him out of his dark thoughts. “Talking to you is quite pleasant. And to see that you are a human who curious beyond a selfish interest in what advantages my powers may hold for you…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, but Pete takes it as a sign that the Snow King is one step closer to trusting him. It is weird to see Patrick one the one hand being kind and caring, obviously interested in sharing some of his own stories, and on the other hand, secluded and suspicious.

“I would love that,” Pete answers him, and the smile Patrick sends him as as blindingly beautiful as the snow around them.

The next day starts just like the ones before. Patrick joins Pete soon after he wakes up, they talk as Pete eats some of the strange fruits Patrick brought him yesterday, and they walk into the great hall, where Patrick bids him goodbye.

Today, Pete decides to leave the castle, both to give his dogs more space to roam and play, and to let them hunt for fresh meat. As Patrick promised, no blizzard harms them, no storm hinders them. Now without the pressure, Pete enjoys driving his sled for the first time in a long time, enjoys the adrenaline and the trust he has in his dogs, enjoys the beauty of the landscape around them, the glistening snow and the cold winter sun on the bright blue sky.

Now, by daylight, the Snow King’s land doesn’t seem so scary. The evergreen coniferous trees stand against the horizon, and while his dogs eat, Pete sets up a camp. Patrick’s coat is draped over his shoulders, light and warm, a comforting presence.

Pete is torn out of his daydreams when his dogs’ ears perk up, and some of them abandon their meal, barking to alert their owner. With that behavior, it cannot be Patrick dropping by for a visit, and suddenly, fear strikes Pete. He is all alone in the woods, with nothing but his dogs and a knife to defend himself.

Two more dogs are the first thing Pete sees, grey and white with eyes as piercingly blue as the Snow King’s, followed by a man. He is unarmed, Pete notices not without relief, and about as confused to see Pete as Pete is to see him.

“Ah! You and your dogs are what got mine so excited,” the man exclaims when he spots Pete. “It is not often that we see strangers here. Are you lost?”

“I am not lost,” Pete says, still somewhat wary. He decides it’s best to be honest, both because there is no good lie that comes to mind, and because he hopes that if the stranger is dangerous after all, he might deter from doing harm. “I am Prince Peter of the South, a guest of the Snow King, the ruler over your land.”

To his surprise, the stranger laughs lightheartedly. “Ruler over my land! Things do not work like that here, little Prince. The one you call the Snow King may rule over the snow, but he does not rule over  _ us _ like your kings do.”

That explains why Patrick insisted not to be called Your Majesty, and perhaps a little, why he has such disdain for the power struggle of the humans.

“Well,  _ Prince _ Peter, call me Joseph,” the man says, the emphasize on the title surely a mockery. “You say you are a guest of Patrick?”

“How do you know his name?” Pete asks, surprised.

“Because I know him,” Joseph answers, hesitates. “At least, we used to. He roamed the land in his sled, and our reindeer used to graze together… The children of Winter have coexisted with us in harmony for centuries. But Patrick was the first to reach out to us, the first time we ever got to see more than a glimpse, more than a whisper.”

Pete is even more surprised than before. Never has he heard of such a thing. “But… Our tales are so different!”

“You have met the Snow King. Is he the one your tales make them out to be? And who told you these stories? Surely, the people who have tried to harm him. But me and my village, we have been here forever, and we know better than the power-hungry invaders who cannot accept our peaceful way of living.”

“What you say makes sense,” Pete admits. “And no, Patrick is not who our tales make him out to be. Perhaps… I have had a skewed perspective.”

“I cannot blame you for having grown up among the lies. I just ask you to reconsider what you think of as the truth.”

Pete lets out a deep sigh, and reaches out to pet one of his dogs. They have lost their initial wariness quite quickly, and are now more interested in the other two strange dogs and their owner. “Call me Pete,” he offers, and the other man laughs his lighthearted laugh again.

“Well, then. Call me Joe,” he says with a sympathetic smile as he watches how their dogs carefully sniff each other. Pete’s Samoyeds with their friendly, open-minded nature quickly become friendly with the dogs that Joe calls Huskies.

“You say you are a guest of Patrick?” Joe repeats his question. “I see, you are wearing his coat! Say, how did that happen? For a while now, no one has managed to even get near the castle...”

“So that part is true?” Pete asks back, and Joe nods.

“The curse of sleep has prevented anyone from approaching the castle, even us. Those who try are usually found at the doorsteps of someone in our village, to be taken care of and nursed back to health, if necessary. And we have not seen Patrick outside the castle either. Surely, he is still roaming the land, reigning over the snow, but he stays away from us.”

“How strange. I did not fall asleep on my way to the castle. Then again, sleep rarely blesses me...” Pete sighs. “I came to negotiate an alliance – but, first and foremost, I came to have an adventure, and escape from my home. Patrick has been kind to me, he has taken me in, cared for me and my dogs. I do not know why, exactly, because he seems to be wary of humans – which is why I was surprised to learn you knew him well enough to know his name.”

“It was not always that way. I am not sure what happened, and I have never had the chance to ask him...” Joe sighs as well, then whistles for his dogs. “Please tell him we miss him dearly. My people have lived among his ever since we can remember, and we welcome him back with open arms, should he wish to see us again.”

Pete assures Joe that he will deliver the message, and they agree to meet again. Joe seems like a nice man with a friendly smile that widens when he tells Pete of his lovely wife and children, and Pete is happy to have found what could perhaps become a new friend.

Later that evening, Patrick returns, and visits like he did all the days before. He watches as Pete prepares his meal, and listens as Pete tells him about his day.

“I met one of the locals,” Pete begins, carefully, looking at Patrick to judge his reactions. “He said his name is Joseph. He also said he knows you.”

A cold frown and an icy glare from narrowed eyes is the answer Pete gets. “I do not wish to talk about it,” Patrick says, his voice sharp and cold.

“He told me to bring you a message,” Pete continues nonetheless, “he said they all miss your dearly.”

Patrick gets up, his pale hands balled into fists, the snow around him whirling as if it was agitated as well. “I said, do not talk to me about it!”

“Did they hurt you in any way? Should I stay away, too?” Pete asks, because obviously something is very wrong here, and Pete can’t bring himself to stay quiet.

While he is still glaring at Pete, Patrick slowly shakes his head. “Joe did nothing wrong,” he says without any of the previous anger. “It was – no. I cannot tell you. One day, perhaps...”

“Wait!” Pete cries out, but Patrick is gone already, leaving behind only a cascade of snow, and a very confused Pete.

The following days, Pete doesn’t try to talk about it again, and neither does Patrick. It hurts Pete a little, the secrecy and the pain that Patrick carries with him, but if Patrick isn’t ready to talk, Pete sees little he can do about it.

What he does instead is talk to Patrick about everything else, from stories to poetry to his own life back at court as they sit together by the fire, huddled up under Patrick’s coat. To be so close to Patrick is still strange, but a feeling that Pete grows to like – he grows to like a lot about Patrick. The way he speaks, soft as snow, sharp as icicles, as pretty as the glistening rainbow lights illuminating the castle when the sun shines through the ice. The way he laughs, the way he smiles, the way he listens to Pete’s words like they’re the most precious thing. How he always makes sure to share everything winter has to offer – food and flowers, the beauty of Winter, the joy of all the small

things from a shared laugh to the glittering stars on the endless night sky spanning over Patrick’s kingdom. The fantastic tales Patrick himself has to offer, that Pete listens to with endless amazement and perhaps, a little bit of longing to reach out and trace his thumb over the pretty lips telling them.

Whenever Patrick is out, Pete ventures to Joe’s village. Soon, he makes friends with Joe and his family, and the children are delighted by the strange-looking dogs, who love to take the opportunity and play with their new friends. No one treats him like he’s different, no on demands him to follow silly court etiquette, no one looks down on him for being just the wayward Prince. Joe and his wife Marie show him how to prepare the vegetables and fruits that Pete doesn’t know, and although the meals are not as splendid as the banquets back home, they taste better than anything Pete has ever eaten.

In the castle of the Snow King and the snowy village nearby, he feels free, and more welcome and accepted than ever before.

It is a cool day, the pale winter sun illuminating the glittering snow, and Pete and his Snow King stroll around the palace’s great hall, over the frozen lake; Patrick talks of the snow’s whisper and the song of the wind, and as he talks, nature around them comes to life to illustrate his words with music.

“How wonderful!” Pete exclaims with surprise and joy. It is not like the instruments back home, but it is melodic and magnificent nonetheless. He does not understand the strange language of Winter’s children that Patrick sings in, but it makes him shiver in awe. He gathers all his courage, and adds: “Such lovely music, it makes me want to dance! Would you take my hand and join me?”

Pete holds out his hand to Patrick, who hesitates at first, then slowly reaches for it. Despite their closeness, Pete has never actually touched the Snow King’s bare skin before; it is cool, like a winter’s breeze. Not in an unpleasant way, more like a refreshing gust of wind on a hot summer’s day, or the first snowflake of the year kissing one’s palm. Pete smiles to himself as he puts his other hand on Patrick’s hip, and they start to move.

It takes a while until Patrick understands the waltz steps, but once he does, he moves gracefully, a warm smile on his lips as he looks up to Pete with his ice-blue eyes.

Pete has danced with many before, men and women alike, and none have made him feel like Patrick. As the snowflakes dance around them and the winds of winter sing their songs, Pete knows that right here and now, he is falling in love with the Snow King.

When their dance has ended, Pete holds on to Patrick’s hand. Pete’s heart beats faster than ever before as he looks at the wondrous, wonderful man in front of him.

“Can I kiss you?” Pete whispers breathlessly.

Instead of an answer, Patrick cups his face in his hands. And a moment later, their lips meet for a kiss.

Patrick’s lips and the tenderness in his touch are as soft and cool as freshly-fallen snow, while the love in his eyes burns as bright as the winter sun over his frozen kingdom. It warms Pete’s heart more than anything else.

When they part, the magic of the moment makes them both smile. But their happiness doesn’t last long.

As if waking from a dream, Patrick’s eyes widen with fear, and he pushes Pete away. “No. I will not be fooled again. No…!”

When Patrick screams, nature screams with him. Beneath their feet, the ice covering the lake is breaking apart, an ear-piercing clanking as it cracks, the shattered pieces drifting against each other, a shrill scream, a howling that makes the walls of the castle shake.

Never before has Pete considered that snow and ice can make sounds as loud and terrifying as this. Pete tries to call Patrick’s name, but his voice is lost among the noise of the terrified Snow King.

As the cracks in the ice beneath Pete’s feet widen, he stumbles backwards, almost loses his balance, scared that the cold, dark water of the lake will swallow him should he dare to make a wrong step. The noise of the breaking ice still resonates in the great hall, but the destruction stops as Patrick clutches his chest, lips now pressed into a thin line, sending Pete an icy glare.

“You cannot sway my heart. I will not be fooled again,” Patrick repeats, although his voice is more scared than fear-inducing. “No matter how warm the sun in your eyes may be, no matter the promises your pretty lips make, I cannot – I will not…!”

Pete’s own heart is pounding in his chest, both afraid of the force of nature that has just shown itself, and scared for Patrick, who looks close to tears. “Patrick, please, I am not here to hurt you!”

“You are human. Why else would you be here! Why else would you want to be friends with a creature like me, why else would you kiss an abomination such as myself?”

“I have never thought of you like that!” Pete cries out; although Patrick’s words against him are harsh, Pete feels more hurt on Patrick’s behalf. That he would ever come to think of someone like that must have the same reason that explains the isolation and the glimmer of sadness always present in Patrick’s eyes. “I do not understand your anger – did I do something wrong?”

Patrick looks at him, torn between anger and fear, before hiding his face behind his hands. The tears he cries freeze into little drops of ice before they fall to the ground. “I was hurt once before,” Patrick mumbles so quietly that Pete can barely understand him. “I cannot be hurt again.”

“Who hurt you?” Pete asks, anxiously. He wants to reach out for Patrick, wants to hug and comfort him, but the broken shards of ice floating on the deathly-cold lake make it impossible to reach him.

For a moment, it looks like Patrick won’t answer the question, like he will throw Pete out of his castle and find a new curse to keep everyone away from him forever.

“The children of Winter… We are told not care about humans,” Patrick says softly as he lowers his hands, stares at the broken shards of ice beneath his feet. “Humans, I was told, are silly little creatures, caught up in their own lives and their own silly feuds… The rules were clear. They did not bother us, and we did not bother them. The few humans who took up their swords and tried to disturb the peace with us, we always defeated them. After all, I am not your King, not Your Majesty, and my duty is to care for snow and ice, for nature and the animals. ”

Pete nods to show that he is paying attention, although Patrick still isn’t looking at him.

“But I was curious,” Patrick continues, “I did not want to believe the old tales I was told. I wanted to see with my own eyes if they were true or not.” He smiles to himself, just for a second, before his smile melts into a sad expression. “When I met Joseph and the others, oh, how surprised I was! They were all so kind to me. None of them were cruel to each other, or cruel to me. Perhaps, I thought to myself, none of the tales I was told were true...”

How strange, Pete thinks to himself, that their experience has been so similar! But he does not interrupt the Snow King’s story, lets him continue.

“One day, a stranger found my castle. He was a young man, a human like you, foreign to my country. Unlike the ones before, he came without an army, without the intention of war, and I was curious. He was beautiful, and he looked at me like no one else did. He was charming, and he said words that no one else had ever said to me before. Words like  _ pretty _ and  _ precious _ , words like  _ love _ … And I believed every single one of them, for I thought the same of him, and wished for nothing more than his affection.”

Patrick takes a deep breath, and Pete has the distinct feeling that the hardest part is yet to come.

“The words he said to me, they were weapons that I had not come across yet – lies. And so I was not prepared when one day, as he kissed me, he used a weapon that I knew – a blade, to pierce my heart...”

“No!” Pete can’t help but cry out in anger and agony. “What a horrible man, to betray you like that! How dare he!”

Patrick looks startled, as if he hasn’t expected that kind of reaction. Well, after what he has just told Pete, that’s not surprising. Still, a tiny smile tugs at the corner of Patrick’s lips, before he continues.

“I was hurt, but with my last strength, I managed to get away from him. When he heard the walls break, heard ice and snow and the winds of winter scream at him, he was scared enough of my powers to flee… Afterwards, I set up the curse of sleep around my castle, so no one could come near me as my wound healed. The blood stopped flowing soon enough, but even as nothing but a white scar was left, the fear in my heart was still present. After such a mistake, how could I ever trust myself, let alone someone else? What if my misjudgment would cause harm to someone else?…”

With that, Patrick falls silent again, clutching his chest like his old wound might spill new blood. Only the sound of the water against the ice can be heard.

“Patrick, I am sorry for what has happened,” Pete says softly, hoping that the Snow King notices the sincerity and sympathy in his voice. “You did not deserve it in any way, nor was it your fault!”

“I was surprised when you made your way to the gates of my castle. I was hesitant, and determined not to repeat my mistakes, but I was curious. And then, when you asked for help, when you were so vulnerable but brave, so caring and affectionate, when your words sounded not only pretty, but so true… I could not help but lose my heat, scarred or not, to you.” Patrick slowly shakes his head. “When you kissed me though, I thought of the time I had been betrayed so badly, and I could not help but be scared. You were so kind and gentle, but I had been so wrong once before...”

“Patrick, what happened to you cannot be excused, and it is neither your mistake, nor your fault,” Pete repeats eventually. “Believe me when I say, I know that humans can be cruel – I have seen enough of those. But think of Joe and his family, all those who miss you… They are not like the man who betrayed you. And neither am I. I do not want to harm you, I do not want the stupid things my father craves, I do not want to abuse your powers or win a violent war, I want nothing of that! I love you, and all I wish for is to hold your hand, to see you smile without sadness, to know you can be happy again.”

For the first time since he told his story, Patrick looks at him. “At first, it was difficult to trust you. Then, it was difficult to trust myself again,” he says thoughtfully. “But you are right – I have met kind humans before. I do not want to be hurt by the lies of the one who betrayed me any longer!”

The shards of ice freeze together once more under Patrick’s feet as he walks over to Pete. “One of your wishes I can grant you already.” Patrick holds out his hand for Pete to take, which Pete does without having to think twice. “The other wishes, they may take time… But perhaps, if you kissed me again, I could be a little happier.”

Now that is a request Pete cannot deny his beloved Snow King. Their lips meet for a slow, gentle kiss that makes Pete sigh with pleasure.

“Ah, how wonderful,” Patrick whispers afterwards, “yes, I think I may need to kiss you a lot more...”

“You can kiss me as much as you want,” Pete whispers back, and when Patrick laughs, Pete thinks himself to be the luckiest man of this snow-covered kingdom. When their lips meet again, Pete knows he has found everything he could want – an adventure, a new home, and the man he loves.

  
  


Back in Pete’s chambers, the dogs greet them with overjoyed barking. Pete feeds them as Patrick sits down on the bed. “You said once that you had trouble sleeping, did you not?”

“I did,” Pete confirms as he sits next to Patrick. “I have been an insomniac all my life.”

Patrick nods, sends him a pensive gaze. “Perhaps that is why the curse did not affect you – you have escaped sleep far too often already.”

“I know little about magic or curses, but that could be the reason.” Pete can’t help but let out a little yawn, and adds: “Though I am afraid that today, I will not escape sleep. Would you like to stay, and spend the night with me?”

For the first time, Pete sees the Snow King blush; two winter roses blooming on Patrick’s pale cheek as he says: “I would like that.”

As they lay in each other’s embrace, Pete’s head on Patrick’s chest, Patrick’s coat draped over them for warmth, Pete notices one last thing: The Snow King has a heart, and Pete falls asleep to the sound of it beating.

  
  


When Pete wakes up, he feels the cool, gentle touch of Patrick’s fingertips on his cheeks. “Ah! Forgive me, I did not mean to wake you,” Patrick says as Pete rubs his eyes.

“No, it is fine. You are the most beautiful sight I ever woke up to,” Pete answers him, making Patrick chuckle as he pulls Pete closer.

“I have many important things to do,” Patrick whispers, “but I think the most important one today is visiting an old friend...”

For the first time, Patrick invites Pete to join him in his sled, pulled by his loyal reindeer. Patrick is nervous, Pete can tell as they drive through the snowy landscape; he’s staring into the distance, lower lip caught between his teeth, and while he keeps the reins slack – no doubt his reindeer can find their way without guidance – his hands are balled into fists.

Once they reach the village, Patrick walks two steps behind Pete, hesitant to approach Joe’s cottage, and holding his breath as Pete knocks on the door.

“Patrick! I have not seen you in a long time,” Joe says quietly, looking anxiously at Patrick like he might disappear any moment, leaving only more snow behind. “We all missed you dearly.”

Patrick reaches for Pete’s hand, and answers: “It is a long story, and I apologize for making you worry about me. I had been hurt, but now, I am healing.”

Joe looks surprised at first, then smiles warmly enough to let all fear melt away as he says to Patrick: “Welcome back.”

As they enter the cottage, they are greeted by Joe’s wife Marie and their children, as well as their barking Huskies. They all welcome the Snow King as if he had never been away, with joy and excitement, with patience and care, and Patrick’s anxiousness soon melts away. He takes Pete’s hand, and when Pete sees Patrick smile, he knows his second wish has been granted as well.

It is dawn when they venture back to Patrick’s castle. As they enter the great hall, Patrick takes Pete’s hand, a very serious look on his face now. 

“I love you, Pete. But I have to ask: Are you sure you wish to stay?” Patrick asks thoughtfully. “I do not rule over my kingdom like your monarchs do. My crown is not made of gold, and my snowflakes are not made of diamonds. What I have is a kingdom of ice and snow, and the blood of winter in my veins; what I can offer is my heart, and my love.”

“Your heart is more precious to me than all the gold, jewelry or kingdoms in the world could ever be. Here, I have a home, I have friends, and I can be with the man I love. I have everything I could ever need,” Pete answers him without hesitation, then leans in to underline his words by pecking a kiss to Patrick’s lips. 

“There is so much more I wish to show you,” Patrick whispers in between two kisses, “you have not seen the hot springs in the mountains, or the beauty of the aurora borealis, or – oh, Pete, so much more…!”

“I cannot wait,” Pete whispers back fondly, his heart skipping a beat because the way Patrick looks at him, his ice-blue eyes full of joy and excitement – Pete knows his third wish has come true as well. “Whatever the next day may bring, I am glad we will spend it together. Whatever life may hold for us, I am glad we will live it together.”

As they kiss once more, the last rays of sunshine falling through the walls of ice paint a rainbow over the frozen lake; the two lovers have found a home, a family, and hope.

And they lived happily ever after. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!~  
> Sometimes, your family is the friends you make along the way, and a little Snow King who loves you. And your dogs and reindeers/other pets of your choice. 
> 
> Merry Christmas, happy holidays, and soon, happy new year! Please don't forget to check out the other awesome stories from the collection :)


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